


Birds of a Feather

by vifetoile



Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vifetoile/pseuds/vifetoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the first rules they establish is, "Don't bring an argument into the sparring ring." </p><p>Written for Mericcup Week 2014, based on the Civil Wars' song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather

One of the first rules they establish is, “Don’t bring an argument into the sparring ring.”  
It is, obviously, for Merida — even though she has gotten much, much better at reigning in her anger, at breathing in and counting on her finger joints until the boiling in her blood calms down, she still will lash out in the sparring ring with more ferocity than a simple practice warrants. And her skill with weapons still — probably always shall — eclipses Hiccup’s. She could hurt him gravely, if she brought her anger into the ring.  
But the rule is also for Hiccup. He’s not like her in carrying his anger like a coal before him — he’s melancholic, and prone to brood and over-think, writing and rewriting the perfect comeback, the exact words for a crippling defeat. In a fight he could bring those words to bear, egg her on until she does something she will regret. Sarcasm has always been his favorite weapon.  
Their fights can get nasty. 

When they first fell in together, when her family traveled to Berk for a peace treaty, and she and the Chief’s son began seeking each other out for runaway, fumbling kisses, they were not as secret as they had hoped they were. So, everyone around them had an opinion. And everyone thought that it wouldn’t last.   
Cultural clash aside, most of the Vikings assumed that Hiccup was just falling prey to the lure of the forbidden. He’d done it before, he’d do it again. As for the Highlanders, they knew Merida was falling prey to the lure of the forbidden. Maudie was heard tut-tutting to the young princes that Merida was going to be bored with the timid little Viking before the fortnight was out.   
The first time they fought, when her yells carried halfway across Berk, and he spent the rest of the day in his forge angrily pounding at iron and muttering, everyone took it as the death knell and was ready to offer sincere condolences.   
And then the next morning, they were stunned to see wildflowers left on Hiccup’s anvil, and Toothless riding the thermals high above Berk, with two riders, laughing in the wind.  
The chieftain’s son and the queen’s daughter proved the doubters wrong, but Odin knew, they didn’t make it easy.  
Actually, Odin was part of the problem. Hiccup didn’t take issue with Brigid or the druids or wisps, but Merida frankly disliked the Vikings’ gods, especially Loki, of whom Hiccup was always a bit fond, (irrationally, of course, don’t let Stoick know).   
And when the skald repeated their sagas around the fire, Merida grew discomfited by the identical descriptions of the various goddesses, all quite meek and lovely, with hair like spun gold and arms white as snow. Merida’s arms weren’t white – even when she hadn’t been riding and running in the sunlight, her arms were freckly and had pink undersides and little blue veins.   
Hiccup tried to tell her that he liked that about her, he liked that she wasn’t a goddess, making flowers bloom where she walked, that she didn’t have infinite patience or infinite kindness or infinite gentleness – but when he tried to tell her he liked her because she was impatient and harsh and rough, that did not go very well.  
But the next day, Merida had set up a shooting range and was teaching Hiccup archery, kissing him in the meantime, and Stoick was downing a barrel of beer, tankard by tankard, while Gobber assured him not to worry, life could be much worse.   
Life could also be much better, was what Elinor thought when Merida lost sleep. She spent nights sitting up and thinking about Hiccup while looking out at the stars, and not just normal young-lass-in-love thoughts, like, oh, is he thinking of me, oh, his eyes are so pretty, oh, hot damn that man has a fine ass. Merida would worry over some remark that Hiccup had made, maybe about the Vikings, or about his machines, or just about him and Merida, and she would be left trying to parse his meaning, was there anything she had left out or misunderstood, was she sure she knew him, was she smart enough for him?   
No one was more surprised than them when they realized what they had was love. But then again, they told no one else. This time, they kept it good and secret, cherishing it like a little candle on a windy night.  
Sadly, this was just when the king and queen announced their intent to return to DunBroch.   
A part of Merida would have almost welcomed a fight, a clean break and a cauterizing burn to end things immediately, rather than this heartstring that stretched over the ocean, with the tides testing their bond. But that was only a part. She had never dreamed to be caught so fast in a trap like this, nor that she would not want to escape. Something of the huntress in her rebelled… but that was all.  
One night, they lay together under the stars, just a few days before Merida’s departure. Merida’s hair was spread out over the grass in a wide circle, and Hiccup rested his head on it. Their hands were clasped, and their mouths and skin still tingled from their kisses.  
“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” Hiccup said, picking out constellations and discarding them as he made new ones up, “I’d say you and I weren’t good for one another.”   
“Nah,” Merida replied. “I’m sure ev’ry couple has a betting pool among their neighbors, waitin’ for the break up.”   
“I’ll be honest… I really want a future with you. But I’m kind of scared of what it might contain.”   
“Aye,” Merida answered, one hand beating out a fidgety tattoo on her stomach. After a pause, she said, “There’s a eulogy I heard once…”  
“This will end well,” Hiccup interrupted, deadpan.   
“This man’s wife had died, and he’d been inconsolable. Left his farm to his sons and he wandered. A year later, he returned to DunBroch, came to the hall, and asked to recite a poem he’d written in her honor.”   
“Was it any good?”  
“’Twas one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. And sad. Father asked him to come back again and again, so I kenned some of it pretty well. There’s one… ‘For twenty years we shared a home, our converse milder with each year.’”   
She paused. Hiccup started to say something in the silence, but she talked over him, and he let her finish, “I used to think tha’ was the best thing I could hope for, in a marriage. Mild converse. With the three lords’ sons, wi’ someone I’d settle with to keep the peace… now… well.” She trailed off.  
“‘Converse milder with each year,’” Hiccup repeated. “So in about twenty years, we might actually be able to deal with one another like normal people.”   
“Normal. Blearck.” Merida made a face. The two laughed softly, and lapsed into silence. After a wind passed over the trees, making them rustle and whisper, and Hiccup had curled so that his head was resting on Merida’s shoulder and they were breathing together, she said, “I really hope we can make our converse milder, though.”  
“Me, too.” Hiccup’s voice was a strained whisper. “Merida, I really, really want this to work.”   
She lifted her eyes to the stars, her arm wrapped around his shoulder, and said softly, “If we both want it so badly, I think it will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: the poem Merida refers to is a real poem, and one of my favorites. It is from the Great Book of Gaelic, written in the fourteenth century, and is called “On the Death of His Wife.”


End file.
